


Heated Exchanges

by Anonymous



Series: Heated Exchanges [1]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alpha Erik, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles in a Wheelchair, Charles-centric, Erik Minus the Baggage is a Pretty Decent Guy, M/M, Omega Charles, Worried Charles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-29 23:06:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10146722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: From this prompt..."I'd just like to see paralyzed Charles experience a heat, and the dynamics of Erik sating a heat-crazed mate who couldn't maneuver like others would."My take on the above. Romance and angst and smut.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Xmen_Ongoing](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Xmen_Ongoing) collection. 



> Another prompt I wouldn't have expected to write. I've never written Alpha/Omega before, and this is definitely my personal spin.
> 
> Pretty sure there will be a sequel with a pregnant Charles...

Charles knew it was coming, as sure as winter's ice and snow yielded to the first buds of spring. His heat was coming, mere hours away. He could feel the shifts in his hormones, the first glimmerings of raw need. This would be his first heat since finding his lifemate, and he was terrified.  


Always before he had used sedatives and hormone suppressors to blunt the symptoms. Heat and mating and pregnancy carried difficulties and risks for him that they wouldn't for most Omegas.  


Erik swore he was okay with it all, with the limits and dangers Charles' paralysis imposed, and maybe he was. The problem was Charles wasn't always entirely sure he himself was okay with it.  


He'd lost the use of his legs at sixteen, after a car crash while out with friends. He had manifested as an Omega three months later, too early in his recovery to make mating even remotely feasible, even if he could find a mate willing to look past his useless legs and potentially compromised womb.  


So he'd gone on suppressors and stayed on them for the next twenty years, resigning himself to a life alone. He'd earned a PhD in genetics, become a professor at a small college in upstate New York, built himself a life he could be proud of.  


Yet he was still alone.  


Then Erik had wandered into his life. They'd met at a used bookstore downtown. Charles had been struggling to reach a collection of Mark Twain essays on a shelf that was just barely too high, and Erik had walked up and snared it for him, glancing at the title and smiling before handing it to him.  


Charles hadn't sensed any pity in the gesture – it was an emotion he was painfully aware of – just a genuine desire to help and a mild curiosity. And the man was absolutely gorgeous – short auburn hair that wanted to curl at the nape of his neck, cool grey-blue eyes that took in everything, a mouth and jaw that seemed severe but held the promise of humor, broad shoulders, narrow waist.  


And he was an Alpha. Charles had smelled his pheromones, felt the pull of attraction, the recognition that he was also unmated. The other man's eyes widened in awareness of Charles as Omega, and his lips curved into a smile. “Erik Lehnsherr.” He extended his hand.  


Charles shook it. “Charles Xavier.”  


They talked for more than an hour, until the shop owner had regretfully chased them out, saying he had to close at seven. Charles wound up buying the Mark Twain without even looking at it.  


They adjourned to a brewpub around the corner, continued their conversation over several rounds of beers and a platter of nachos. They talked about everything from literature (where they agreed about much) to politics (where they disagreed about more) to all of the usual getting-to-know-you questions. Erik was an engineer in the city planning department, originally from Germany (he spoke five languages), and a metallokinetic.  


They had their first official date three days later, and within two months, Erik was moving his belongings into Charles' house. Charles went into a heat cycle before then, but their relationship was still too new. They hadn't figured out if they were true mates yet, hadn't really talked about children, so Charles had taken the suppressors one more time.  


But now, almost six months later, they had had those conversations, as well as the more difficult one about whether Charles could even conceive, let alone bear children. Erik's answer never changed. He loved Charles. End of story. Family was about a lot more than passing on one's genes (which Charles still thought was a funny thing to tell a geneticist).  


So now they were entering into what was uncharted territory for both of them. Sex for them, of necessity, wasn't about intercourse. Charles' sexual organs were as still and insensate as the rest of his lower body, and while he was always willing to let Erik take his pleasure, Erik always insisted he preferred the acts that could bring them mutual enjoyment.  


Heat, though, was not about pleasure. Heat was purely about biology. Heat was need and hunger and hormones. Heat was the imperative to continue the species. And Charles had no idea how he and Erik would be able to get through this.  


Nor would Erik even talk about it, not really. He was so secure in their love for each other, so sure that they could find a way to make it work, that he kept brushing aside Charles' insecurities and concerns. And much as Charles loved Erik, he really wanted to grab him and shake him until he _listened_.  


But it was too late for that now. Charles' heat was here. Whatever was going to happen would happen, and Charles would just have to deal with it. He had a lot of experience with just dealing.  


He'd finished his last lecture for the week, then gone home early. Hank McCoy, fellow professor and friend, would cover his classes at the beginning of next week. That part of his life, at least, remained under control.  


Erik should be home by six, and Charles would have dinner ready for him. He genuinely liked to cook, though he didn't often have the time for anything beyond the basics. He wasn't hungry tonight, the hormones already suppressing his appetite, but Erik would be, and cooking helped keep him distracted.  


Charles busied himself with setting the table. The salad was ready to be dressed; the rice, staying warm in the oven. He wouldn't start Erik's steak until he actually came through the door.  


Which Erik finally did at ten minuted to six. He hung his coat in the closet, loosened his tie, then swooped over and kissed Charles, slow and deep.  


Charles surrendered to the kiss, his eyes closing, his hands sliding into the silky plush of Erik's hair.  


After he eased his lips away from Charles', Erik took a deep sniff of the skin behind Charles' left ear, of the concentrated pheromones exuded there. “You're close,” he said. “I can smell it. I can taste it. It's making me hungry for something other than the dinner I smell cooking.”  


Charles smiled, cupping Erik's jaw with one hand. “I know, love. But you'll need your strength.”  


Erik laughed. “You sound like my mother. ' _Ess', ess', mein Kind._ '” But he straightened up and took his seat at the table.  


Charles returned to the kitchen, dropped Erik's steak in the cast-iron pan he'd kept heating on the stove, dressed the salad. He set aside a small portion of the salad for himself, flipped the steak, took Erik his salad. By the time he got back to the kitchen, Erik's steak was done, and he placed it on a plate with a serving of hot buttered rice. It should be perfectly rested by the time Erik finished his salad.  


Charles nibbled halfheartedly at his own salad as he watched Erik eat. The man did everything with an unconscious grace, like a stalking tiger, sleek and powerful and beautiful, primal and fierce.  


Maybe it was the hormones talking, but Charles was nothing short of amazed that this man had consented to share his life with him. Sure, he could be maddening, even infuriating, yet he argued his convictions with a passion that never failed to take Charles' breath away, even when his own beliefs ran counter to his mate's. And most important of all, he had never viewed Charles as broken.  


The hunger was rising now, hot and fast, breaking over Charles like a wave. He took a couple of deep breaths, fighting for control, and managed to keep his voice from shaking as he asked, “Darling? Are you almost done?”  


Erik glanced up, his nostrils flaring, then pushed his plate aside. He rose, circled the table, wrapped an arm around Charles' shoulders. “I am now, _mein Herz_.”  


Charles nodded slowly. Ready or not, this was happening. He wheeled into their bedroom, Erik close behind him.  


They'd barely crossed the threshold when Erik lay his hands lightly on Charles' shoulders.  


Charles halted, trembling.  


Erik nipped a line of kisses down Charles' neck, marking him, only half-playfully. “You are mine, Charles Francis Xavier. Mine,” he declared. He reached around to undo the first few buttons of Charles' shirt, bared his shoulder, marked it as well. “And I'm going to undress you and take you to bed and fuck you absolutely senseless.”  


Charles felt a fluttering of arousal that had little to do wit his out-of-control hormones. And then Erik was kissing him, hot and tender, hungry and gentle. Charles looped his arms around Erik's shoulders, let his mate carry him to their bed.  


Erik swept the covers back – he'd sewn flat metal buttons to the corners for just this reason – and set Charles down on the mattress. He fumbled with the rest of the buttons on Charles' shirt, grumbling, “Why couldn't you wear a shirt with metal buttons,” but finally he was able to part the fabric and expose Charles' chest.  


He drew a line from the hollow of Charles' throat to maybe an inch above his navel, traced lazy circles on the patch of sensitive skin there, just above the uneven line where sensation faded to nothingness.  


He used his power to unbutton and unzip Charles' trousers, then he used his hands to ease them and Charles' boxers down to his ankles. He untied Charles' shoes, removed them with care, placed them beside the bed, along with Charles' socks and pants.  


“You are so beautiful,” Erik said, a gentle smile on his face.  


Charles felt his cheeks heat. “You're the beautiful one,” he protested. They'd had this discussion before, and they always disagreed.  


Erik just shook his head and began removing is own clothes. “You have skin like fine porcelain. Your lips, like the lushest of summer berries. And those eyes, looking into those eyes is like drowning in the depths of the ocean.”  


Charles' breath caught in his throat. “I love it when you get poetic.”  


“I know.” Erik folded his clothes and set them on a chair.  


“So get over here. Now. I've got designs on that poetic arse of yours.”  


Erik grinned, pretended to look behind himself. “A poetic arse, is it?”  


“Now, Erik.” The banter was gone from his voice, supplanted by raw need.  


Erik, bless him, sensed the shift and slid into bed beside him. He gathered Charles against his chest, held him tight as he nibbled his earlobe, kissed the sensitive spot behind the corner of his jaw.  


Erik's hand slid down Charles' side and disappeared into the void, but moments later Erik spoke softly in his ear. “You're so wet, so ready for me.”  


Charles shuddered in Erik's arms. “Need you, Erik. Need you in me.” _But I can't feel you, can't feel this._  


Charles didn't think he'd broadcast that thought, but Erik kissed the juncture of his neck and shoulder and said, “Come into my mind. Feel what I feel. Feel it with me.”  


Charles skimmed the surface of Erik's mind, as he had done many times before.  


_No. Come all the way in this time._  


Charles hesitated only a moment before sheathing himself in Erik's consciousness.  
Erik gasped.  


_Too much?_  


_No. It just startled me. Feels good. Feels right._  


Charles felt Erik smile, both in his head and against the bare skin of his shoulder. Erik had two fingers inside him, and he could feel his hot slick coating Erik's hand.  


_Almost there,_ Erik thought as he lined himself up with Charles' hole, slowly pushed inside.  


_Holy fuck!_ Charles reveled in the sensation of Erik's cock buried in _hot!tight!wet!_  


_It'll get better._  


_Impossible._  


Erik steadied Charles with an arm around his waist, pulled out partway, slid in again. Repeated.  


Charles saw himself through Erik's eyes – shaggy dark hair damp with sweat, compact but muscular torso pressed against Erik's, and – Good Lord, did he really have that many freckles on the backs of his shoulders?  


_You do._ Erik bit him on one of the aforementioned shoulders. _Now stop distracting me._  


In. Out. In. Out. With each stroke Charles could feel the sensations singing along Erik's nerves, lightning-bright pulses of fiery energy bursting in his brain.  


Erik's free hand found Charles' right nipple, fingered it in counterpoint to the ever-increasing tempo of his cock driving into Charles' ass. It was too much. It was just enough.  


For the first time in his life, words failed Charles. All he could do was soar along with Erik as his mate's orgasm peaked, then ebbed.  


Erik kept his arm around Charles' waist, holding them together. “I've knotted,” he said quietly. “Are you okay like this?”  


Charles pushed a feeling of assent at Erik. Coherent thought was still beyond him.  


Erik kissed the top of his shoulder. “I love you, you know.”  


_I know._ Charles could stay like this forever, cradled in his love's arms, touching his love's mind.  


_Forever?_  


Charles smiled. _Or at least until we need to do this again in a few hours._  


_A few hours?_ Erik pretended to be horrified. _At that rate, I won't be able to walk come Monday._  


Charles chuckled. _That's all right, darling. I'll always give you a ride._


End file.
